


Tact

by Naemi



Category: NCIS
Genre: Anal Fisting (implicit), M/M, Romance, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-01
Updated: 2012-11-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:08:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony took his beer, stared at the label, took a sip, then stared at the label again. “Abby,” he finally said, and it was clear that he didn't just refer to the bottle in his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tact

 

It was impossible to answer, even with Tony pressed against his side, his breath cooling Tim's sweaty skin and his fingertips caressing where his hands had dug into Tim's flesh only minutes ago.

Tim felt trapped, caught in a spotlight without his script, auditioning for the wrong part. He closed his eyes, pretending to be sleepy, yet all sleepiness that had come with the afterglow of hour-long sex was quickly swept away.

“I fantasized about it a lot.”

So had Tim. Sometimes, he pictured a random stranger, a meaningless yet daring darkroom encounter. Sometimes, his imagination paired him with a professional whose experienced hands claimed and conquered him without hesitation.

But most of the time he was with Abby, the remembrance a perfect picture of the past and the sinful games they used to play. She was patient and sweet, and he didn't want it at first, but there was no way to say no to Abby. Not when _she_ wanted something. Not when she took away all the fears and insecurities with the patience of a saint and the skill of an expert. And once he had given allowance, he quickly found pleasure in being stretched and filled. It was quite a journey, painful at times when they took it further than they should—out of impatience, deceived confidence, or even unrestraint desire—yet the memories of the sensation kept making him feel tingly.

Even now, her image flared up in his mind, evoked by Tony's unexpected admission. Her soft hands, lean fingers …

“It must be so intense. Don't you think?”

It was intense. It was pure fire shooting up his spine, but not destructive, not devastating: a golden heat, pulsing through his nerves, filling every breath and heartbeat with consuming ecstasy.

“Tim?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Tim forced himself to say, and his voice almost broke. He felt embarrassment crawl from his cheeks down his throat, threatening to choke him.

“I bet you can take it. You'll probably love it. Yes, you will, Mister Never-Enough.”

Tim felt Tony smirk against his neck, and a slight irritation overcame him. Fantasy talk was one thing, and he was okay with feeling his way from imagination to reality—slowly, cautiously—but the assumption that he'd jump aboard that train in a snap oddly offended his sense of decency. Not to mention that rush was the least useful tool in the whole process. It didn't matter that it was Tim's own secret kink; the way Tony talked about it just seemed too careless, and Tim felt as though he had no say whatsoever in the affair.

He freed himself from Tony's embrace and received an unreadable look as he stood up and fished for his boxers in the pile of clothes beside the bed.

“Tell me why,” he said calmly while searching for his jeans.

“Why not?” Tony's expression bore confusion.

Sighing, Tim ran his hand over his forehead. “Let me get this right. Your fantasy, _your wish_ to fist me should simply be sufficient enough for me to agree? Just like that? Despite the delicacy of the matter, despite the fact that this requires high-level trust? Not to mention preparation. A _lot_ of preparation. You want me to just say yes and smile and not question your motives?”

“What motives, Tim?”

“You tell me.”

Tony frowned, obviously not following, not understanding why Tim was upset all of a sudden.

Quite frankly, Tim didn't even know why himself. Instead of being excited, being thankful that they shared the same preference—at least in theory, as far as it concerned Tony—he couldn't help the feeling of standing in a corner, his back against a solid brick wall, being held at gunpoint, which was admittedly unfair. Yet, the discomfort prevailed as he received no answer.

“Fine. Think about it, then. Let me know.”

Zipping up sounded final.

Tim left the room and made his way to the kitchen. He wanted a beer, would have preferred something stronger, but since he didn't share Tony's habit of an occasional after-work drink, he only had a couple of Bushs in his fridge, leftovers from Abby's last visit. Tim opened one and took a sip.

By the time half the bottle was gone, his guilty conscience awoke, worsening with every thought. When his second beer started to become dangerously empty, he heard footsteps approaching. He took the last Bush out of the fridge, opened it, and put it on the counter for Tony just as he appeared in the doorframe.

“Tim?” Tony's voice was low, almost meek. “Are you … still mad at me?” His face displayed concern mixed with sadness, and his lips wore an unsteady smile. He looked so much like an abandoned puppy that Tim couldn't help but smile back.

“No,” he replied softly, “I'm not. I wasn't mad at you to begin with.”

“Then why did you run away?”

Tim shook his head as if to chase away the various images that still besieged his mind, mingling with the remorse of memories, dominated by the remembrance of Abby's touches.

“I ran away because … 'cause I was afraid to admit you hit a nerve.”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “I'm sorry.“

“Not in a bad way.”

The following silence was tense. Not unpleasant or weighing heavy, but simply filled with the tension that accompanied the effort of processing information, grasping its meaning, and considering the appropriate response.

Tony took his beer, stared at the label, took a sip, then stared at the label again. “Abby,” he finally said, and it was clear that he didn't just refer to the bottle in his hands.

“Yes,” Tim confirmed. Afraid to meet disapproval—or worse—he avoided Tony's eyes.

“I see.”

“That was long ago. In another life.”

“No need to defend.” Tony moved closer, cupped Tim's chin with one hand to make him look at him. “Tell me—did you like it?”

The urge to get away from Tony's touch was overwhelming. It took a deep breath and slowly counting to ten before Tim controlled it, before he complied, surprised to find the smile on Tony's lips reflected in his eyes.

“Did you?” Tony asked again, and all Tim could do was nod.

“What is it like?”

Tim blushed, although there was no need in feeling ashamed. Tony's curiosity was sincere, lacking mockery or judgment. Tim's heart skipped a beat at the sudden realization of how much he loved this man.

“It's … I can't describe it. It's unlike anything else.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Yes. Sometimes. When it's rushed.”

“And I did rush it … rush the subject. Didn't I?”

“Maybe a little.”

“I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking.” Tony let go of Tim's chin, but his thumb followed the outline of his lower lip, barely touching.

“It's okay. I was … I was ashamed.”

“You still are.”

“Not as much.”

“Not as much,” Tony nodded and leaned in closer to place a soft kiss on Tim's lips. “Because now you know you're in charge. I'm a noob and you—you can teach me. If you so decide.”

Tim laughed. Grasping Tony's hips, he pulled him so close that a sheet of paper would barely fit between them, yet he avoided full body contact.

“You're too much of a dom to be an eager student.”

“And you're a pushy bottom anyway.”

“Am I?”

“Prove me wrong,” Tony said with a wink as he reached down to open Tim's jeans and slide a hand inside.

“Maybe next time,” Tim breathed and pushed his hips against the touch.

“Maybe.” Tony tightened his grip around Tim's cock and hummed happily as he received the expected response of hardening flesh.

“Hey—you _do_ trust me, don't you?”

“I do.”

~ ~ ~

At first, Abby would still sneak into Tim's mind, but as time went by and Tony proved to be most patient and sensitive, her image faded fast.

Preparation was not as long a process as it had been back then. The past training, even if long time neglected, paid off for Tim. Still, Tony insisted on taking it slower than slow; unlike his sometimes very careless talk and macho behavior, he was very afraid of hurting Tim even in the slightest. It happened occasionally, but Tim bit it back as long as it wasn't severe—to him, it was just as much a part of it as the sensation of being stretched and filled, being conquered, exposed, helpless to the overwhelming rushes of lust.

When they first succeeded together, it was the most bonding experience. Tim came so hard that he almost feared he might pass out, and Tony—Tony was so amazed by the intensity of it all that he decided he also wanted it, well, first-hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Kink Roulette](http://kink-roulette.livejournal.com), prompt#10: Fisting.
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Visit my LJ-community [Bunny Bash](http://bunnybash.livejournal.com) to leave me a prompt at any time.]
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


End file.
